The Chase

It all began with a chase.

A runner that dashed by me.

I cannot explain, exactly,

The mad impulse that sent me running too.

I toke off, with pen and page.

I noted with vigor the things I saw.

It was a fire, warm at first.

A fire. with fervent light.

And, like all fire,

Not something to play with.

The runner stopped places that seemed trivial

Went pass places that seemed important.

I knew I could stop.

I didn't have to keep running.

Any moment

I might have thrown my hands

To the sky, shaking my fist.

It would have been easy enough

Just to fall to my knees and drop my pen.

But a question would remain.

Where was the runner going?

What might I have seen?

So, with aching lungs, I press on.

I continue, with longer strides.

Perhaps, I'll never get there

Maybe, there is no destination

But I'm a runner now.

Runners need to run.